


Track and Trace

by majalikesstuff



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Erica, Frottage, M/M, Please Forgive me, Romance, This is really stupid oh my god, it's also really old, omg how, written before season 2 even
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 15:35:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majalikesstuff/pseuds/majalikesstuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has like, a modicum of self-esteem left in the face of everyone he knows turning into godlike creatures of the moon but he’s aware that he’s not anywhere near on Derek Hale’s level, like, attractiveness speaking. What even is Derek made of, seriously, it’s not cool that someone can have that whole cheekbones and jawline and sexy dark eyes combo happening all at once on top of the bangin’ body and the whole awesome supernatural creature thing. How even is anyone supposed to compare, just, seriously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Track and Trace

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know if this is really explicit but the word cock is used a lot a lot a lot so LOOK I'M JUST A SAFETY GIRL IS ALL I'M SAYING. But otherwise it’s just a bit of kissing and swearing and maybe some over the panties action because dude it’s Stiles and you think Derek can resist that? No, of course not.
> 
> Warning: I haven’t ever written fic for Teen Wolf even though I’ve been reading it for like a year? and um yeah. So, fair warning. Oh also I totally wrote this in one sitting and beta hhhaaa what even is that. Also because I’m writing from Stiles’ perspective (yeah that's my excuse), be super prepared for run-on sentences. They are de riguer here, baby.
> 
> I'm actually so ashamed ugh this is so old please ignore me.
> 
> ETA: Sorry about those doubled up bits, it should all be fixed now. Not sure how that happened. :/

Stiles stumbles to a stop, panting as he looks around the clearing. The far-off sound of howling has his breath hitching, and he wipes the back of his hand across his brow. He can hardly hear anything now, his harsh breaths obscuring the quiet sounds of the forest: the susurrus of water close by, bird calls in the trees above him, the rustle of leaves in the cool wind.

He isn’t sure where he is, and this whole idea was stupid; how on earth is he supposed to outrun a werewolf? He knows where he stands in the pack, knows that he’s just the token human, and okay so maybe he was the one who had thought of this originally, wanting to get involved in training, excited to do something to help that wasn’t just his usual google-fu. But, fuck, he’s only been out here for half an hour and already he feels tight-wound and actually, okay, kind of worried at the idea of what will happen if he’s found by one of the younger wolves. Like, Jesus, Erica will probably just chew him up in her enthusiasm and then he’ll be dead, or at least covered in werewolf spit, which, ew, okay, why is it that werewolves are so up on the licking thing? Just, no.

He sits down on a mossy rock, because you know what, whatever, he isn't a masochist like _some people_ \- or okay, you know, fine, it's just based on pure laziness, but running isn't really his bag, at least he's _honest_ with himself. He props his chin in the palm of his hand, both elbows resting on his knees. Although, he thinks, continuing his train of thought, Derek has never been very touchy feely, not like the other guys. Not with him, anyway, he thinks, disgruntled, and then wonders why it annoys him. Like, actually, Derek not wanting to get all up in his business is a totally good thing, okay - his dad had started asking awkward questions about all the weird bruising when Derek was staying with them through the whole fugitive whateverness - which, okay, yeah he totally feels bad about, still, even though it was like, months ago, and totally Scott’s fault anyway - and no, you know what, okay, there is no non-awkward way to have a discussion with your father about "being careful" and _boyfriends_ , which, actually, okay, what the hell, why would his dad even say that? Stiles has had a perfectly serviceable and frankly humiliating crush on Lydia Martin since he was like, eight. His dad has teased him enough about it. 

So, okay, maybe his dad had also made some comments on the way Stiles looked at Danny whenever he came over to study which made Stiles stare at his father with the betrayed eyes of a puppy whose favourite toy has given its last heroic squeak and died. And by ‘toy’ he means ‘innocence’.

Which, okay, full disclosure, Danny is awesome and maybe Stiles has had a few daydreams about him telling Stiles that he’s actually totally attractive to gay guys and then doing that thing with his tongue that he overheard Anthony Anderson telling a group of friends about with a kind of cross-eyed look. He’s not sure if it was in relation to kissing or something else but he’s a curious boy, okay, it would be interesting to find out and also maybe the idea of what it would entail has made some of his showers longer than usual but whatever.

Point is - he struggles for a second, and then gives up, knocking his head gently against his knees. Nope, even if he was attracted to dudes, which okay, fine, is sort of a possibility at this point, what, he’s an equal opportunist, but even if he was, he wouldn’t ever be attracted to Derek. Dude is like, fucking terrifying, and he never says anything because he’s grumpy like all the time and Jesus how boring would it be to get that sack of sour wolf into bed, he’d just be all…intense and frowny and probably growl at Stiles if he tried to talk which, hello, not cool, Stiles is a delight and everything he says is hilarious, whatever. 

So, okay, maybe it would be kind of hot having all that intensity just like _focused_ on him, and yeah okay so whenever Derek used to push him up against walls - hello, anger management issues, seriously, dude is like, damaged - Stiles would maybe kind of be sort of excited like, in _that_ way because hello, he’s seventeen, all his dick needs is for the breeze to drift by in a particular way and it’s all like, ‘hi, hello, yeah, feeling like I should get involved here, yup, this totally seems like an appropriate time to make Stiles’ life even more humiliating than usual, yeah, totally.’

But it’s not like even if he _was_ attracted to Derek that anything would ever happen. Like, dude has issues out the fucking back door, and Stiles is so not equipped to deal with that. He’s a virgin in like, every way possible, and there are, okay, so many people who he wants to be able to look after but dude, he’s not even Robin, he for sure can’t be anyone’s Dark Knight. Like, no-one even expects it because he’s just Stiles, and he tries with his dad and with Scott but they’re - well he can’t do anything for them even though he tries, so what possible hope could he have to do anything to make a guy like Derek Hale’s life any easier? Because, actually, let’s be real here, he would most likely just make everything more difficult in the sense that, hello, jailbait, also, son of sheriff, also, annoys the shit out of, also, not even good at sex probably, so.

Stiles has like, a modicum of self-esteem left in the face of everyone he knows turning into godlike creatures of the moon but he’s aware that he’s not anywhere near on Derek Hale’s level, like, attractiveness speaking. What even is Derek made of, seriously, it’s not cool that someone can have that whole cheekbones and jawline and sexy dark eyes combo happening all at once on top of the bangin’ body and the whole awesome supernatural creature thing. How even is anyone supposed to compare, just, seriously.

He’s started picking at the grass near his feet in despair - it’s totally not a sexuality crisis if you’ve never even had sex okay, that’s just logic - when he hears a snort of disbelief from behind him. Frankly, he’s not sure what took them so long, he’s been sitting here wallowing for like, ten minutes, aren’t they supposed to be super fast, what the hell, this was so pointless, they’re going to die in like a week.

"Weren’t you supposed to be running," Derek says from behind him, and Stiles winces because that wasn’t even a question, that sentence was as flat as a very fucking flat thing.

He twists around, dropping his handful of grass all over his shoes. He pastes an innocent look on his face as he meets Derek’s eyes, and yeah, dude is pissed. But honestly, what's new. If Derek ever smiles at him, Stiles would genuinely have a heart attack from shock.

"I’m not all superhuman-y like you, big guy," Stiles says. “I got tired, okay, you’re talking to second string here, athleticism? Nada, nikt, niente; you’re aware of this. My skills are internet browsing and pithy commentary on life with bonus pop culture references. That’s what you keep me around for, dude, don’t even lie, I make your day joyous."

Derek rolls his eyes. It’s strangely intriguing, with the whole cheekbone thing and the teensy little pout that Stiles is so totally not going to comment on because, hey, he likes his limbs attached.

"Stop pouting," he says, because he’s also lacking in a brain to mouth filter, what, it’s part of his charm. “Come sit down, I haven’t even seen your puppies, they probably got distracted by a rabbit. Or well, Scott probably did. Isaac is probably wallowing or he’s decided to go back to casa de creepy - that’s your place, if you didn’t pick up - and make cookies. I hope he makes cookies, dude should be a baker, seriously, important skills in life man, he has them. Erica probably got distracted by making everyone’s life more interesting and by interesting I mean crushing all their hopes and dreams and putting her boobs in Boyd’s face - you’ve noticed that, right, I’m not ruining something by telling you, am I - and I reckon Jackson is, well Jackson, so he’s probably looking at himself in a reflective surface and he’s going to die of starvation and turn into a pretty little flower."

Derek’s mouth totally twitches, Stiles sees it, Jesus fuck, he totally made him do the Derek-equivalent of a normal-person laugh. 

"You totally just laughed, oh my god," he exclaims loudly, and when Derek just sits down next to him without saying anything he crows loudly. “Ha, I totally made you laugh, your robotic face has been defeated, I knew you had emotions, I am amazing."

Derek just looks at him, but if Stiles isn’t going completely crazy he thinks there might be something like fondness in his gaze. He smiles back at him, and then when they’ve maintained eye contact for a suitably awkward amount of time, Stiles looks down at his feet, blushing a bit, which okay, of course Derek can see that, and then he’s blushing more oh god someone kill him it’s so so very obvious that he wants to suck Derek’s cock isn’t it, oh god, Derek is going to _slaughter_ him.

He’s kind of still in the middle of a minor, silent panic attack when he feels Derek’s hand settle warm and heavy on his thigh, which, okay, totally different panic attack imminent in three, two, one…

"Stop freaking out," Derek rumbles, and yes, he’s totally smiling at Stiles, what the hell, he’s going to be killed and left in the woods and his mutilated body will be found by a jogger and his dad will never, ever recover.

"Seriously," Derek adds, and his hand sweeps up Stiles’ thigh which, yup, he totally just squeaked, like a chipmunk, that’s not embarrassing at all, nope. The hand stays there, near the crease of Stiles’ groin, reassuring and totally arousing. Stiles settles a bit, despite every fight or flight response in his weak, prey-like body. He's still strung tight at this very, very weird change in events, though, and Derek leans against him with a hum of approval from where he’s sitting on the ground, his eyes sliding closed. Stiles tries to remember that breathing is a necessary action for survival.

"Um, are we," he begins, not really sure how he’s going to finish that sentence, but hello, he has a werewolf practically in his lap, a certain amount of confusion is forgivable, surely.

"Sh," says Derek softly, and starts petting Stiles’ leg. The strangled noise that comes out of Stiles’ mouth is totally understandable especially because god, god, Derek’s fingers have kind of moved up a little and uh-huh, yeah, that's another person's hand brushing softly across the seam on his crotch and ohhhh that’s not cool.

He’s totally getting hard, his cock pressing up against the stiff fabric of his jeans as Derek’s fingers get like, seriously involved with his body, definitely not just a friendly bro-thigh-massage (those exist, right?) anymore, yeah no, not when that big warm hand is _ohmygod_ kneading at the ridge of his dick, and okay, he’s totally pressing up into it now, trying not to let the soft whimpers that are gathering in the back of his throat out of his mouth.

He looks down at Derek and oh, he’s staring up at him hungrily, his eyes dark and his mouth tight as he presses his fingers down hard against Stiles’ cock, pushing out a whine. Stiles pushes his dick further into Derek’s big hand, his eyes dropping to Derek’s crotch where, yeah, god, there’s a frankly frightening looking erection straining against the fabric. Stiles had kind of assumed that Derek would have to have a big dick - karma says that the way he looks is payback for all the bad shit that has happened to him, obviously he’s a fucking god - but that looks thick and long, bigger than any he’s seen in the boys’ locker room, definitely, not that he looks or anything, obviously, apart from sometimes.

He has a horrifyingly arousing mental image of taking that thick cock out of Derek’s trousers and sucking it down his throat and then Derek is growling - god, yup, it’s so much hotter in real life - and pulling him down until Stiles is lying on the ground beneath him. Derek looks down at him, his arms bracketing Stiles’s head, his eyes flickering between Stiles’ mouth and his eyes. Stiles pushes himself up a bit on his elbows and, without thinking it through too much, presses his mouth softly to Derek’s. 

Derek lets out a soft sound against Stiles’ tongue. Stiles can hear himself making noises as he grinds their hips together but he is so far beyond caring right now. Until there's the sound of crashing in the bushes and then -

"Found y- oh god oh god oh god no oh god my eyes, ew, what the fuck," and yes, that’s definitely Scott, Stiles thinks, closing his eyes in mortification, his hands curled tight into Derek’s shirt. 

"Go home now," Derek growls, and he isn’t looking at Scott, still pressing little sucking kisses to Stiles’ neck. Scott whimpers, and Stiles is definitely never going to live this down. He’s going to be getting play-by-plays of Scott and Allison’s sex life until he dies. 

“And if you see the others," Derek continues, “tell them that we’re done and I’ll talk to them later. You all did a terrible job."

Scott makes a sound as if, despite all evidence to the contrary, and the fact that this is so not the time, he’s going to try to deny that, but Derek makes a warning sound that, unfortunately, is made into Stiles’ neck. The only response to that is a full body shiver and a kittenish whine. Stiles dies on the inside. Derek looks very satisfied. Scott makes retching noises, but starts to leave, thank Jesus. 

Derek makes as if to go straight back to work on Stiles, but Stiles stops him with a hand to his mouth. “Just, just one thing," he says, and okay, he didn’t realise his voice could go that high. He clears his throat, while Derek just looks smug. “Just, um, okay, like this is very nice and all, don’t get me wrong, but it kind of came out of nowhere? Like literally, bam, suddenly you’re rubbing me off in the woods, I mean, like I said, no complaints, it’s all been quite enjoyable, but um, just. Why?"

Derek gives him a disbelieving look. 

"Like, I get it," he says, when the silence has gone on a bit long. “Obviously I’m totally catnip to werewolves. Werenip? Whatever, I’m irresistible, is my point, but just. I guess, why now, particularly? Have you only just now decided that you wanted all this?" He gestures expansively at his body, throwing in a leer for good measure. Derek rolls his eyes.

"I’ve wanted you for a long time," Derek says eventually, which, okay, cool, that’s sort of unexpected because, well, the hatred and everything. But then he stops talking which, not so cool, explanations are necessary.

"Stop being so uncooperative," Stiles sighs. “What bought on the sudden totally non-bro-appropriate - non-bro-ppropriate? whatever, this yes homo behaviour?"

Derek looks at him, his thumb swiping across Stiles’ bottom lip casually. Possessively. Stiles tries not to sigh into it, or worse, take it into his mouth and show Derek just how talented his mouth can be. Not that he’s totally aware if he is talented. He probably isn't. 

"What was I training everyone in today?" Derek asks finally, and Stiles frowns at him.

"How is this related to anything?" he asks, annoyed, and Derek smiles a little at him, raising an eyebrow. Stiles sighs.

“Tracking, I guess."

Derek’s thumb stops, pressing against Stiles’ bottom lip until his mouth opens a little and he’s breathing across his skin, hot and wet. “And what senses would I be training in tracking? Keeping in mind I gave the others scraps of your shirt before we started."

"You _what_ ," Stiles starts, indignant. "It better not have been my studmuff-uhhhh."

Derek has taken the opportunity to grind Stiles' hips into the dirt and Stiles might have kind of lost the ability to sentence. Derek quirks an eyebrow at him again. 

"Um," says Stiles, and Derek’s thumb slips into his mouth a bit. He tries to remember the question. It takes a bit. “I - I guess, scenting?"  


"Exactly," says Derek, “and I was doing that too, okay? Scenting you."

"Oh," says Stiles, remembering what he was thinking about before Derek had arrived. “So you -"

"I’ve wanted you for a long time," Derek repeats softly, leaning in and kissing Stiles gently. Stiles opens his mouth to him eagerly. “But this is the first time I’ve been sure that you wanted it as well."


End file.
